


Remembrance (or: A Muggle at Hogwarts)

by Northumbrian



Series: Nineteen Years and Beyond [52]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Married Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Muggles, Novelette, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Remembrance Day, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northumbrian/pseuds/Northumbrian
Summary: Every year on 2nd May, Lesley Anderson's boyfriend goes off to Scotland for a few days, to remember his brother. This year, she is joining him.





	1. Munro Bagging

**Munro Bagging**

‘Lesley Anderson.’ As I handed the paperwork I’d printed out over to the stout middle-aged woman at the reception desk, I introduced myself. ‘I’ve booked a six-berth cabin,’ I continued, not daring to risk pronouncing the cabin’s name. ‘Here’s my booking form.’

Before reading through the form, the woman glanced meaningfully down at my left hand. ‘Recent?’ she asked me.

‘Two weeks,’ I admitted, wondered how long it would take me to become used to the diamond sparkling on the third finger. Her amused glance had made me realise that, once again, I’d been unconsciously playing with it. I removed my thumb from the underside of the ring, and she gave me an understanding smile.

‘Thanks, Miss Anderson,’ she said after a brief examination of the form. ‘Ye’re in Càrn a’ Bhodaich. I’ll be needing a credit card from ye.’

I pulled my Visa card from my purse and handed it over. She slid it through the machine. ‘Just the twa o’ ye?’ the woman asked, looking through the glass door at my fiancé. He was sitting in the car, waiting for me. She was obviously wondering why we’d booked a three-bedroom lodge.

‘We’re being joined by friends, but they won’t get here for a couple of days,’ I explained. ‘A couple, and their two young kids. We’ll need a cot and a high chair when they get here. The website said we should let you know about the cot when we arrived.’

The woman nodded. ‘If ye dinnae need it the nicht, I’ll leave a note, make sure there’s one available for ye on the morrow,’ she said as she returned my credit card to me. ‘Is this your first visit to Drumnadrochit?’

‘It’s my first visit to Scotland.’ I made my admission guiltily, and stared out of the side window towards Loch Ness and the hills. ‘But my boyfriend ... my fiancé went to school not far from here,’ I told her. ‘He’s been trying to persuade me to visit for years. And now I know why.’ I waved towards the window, indicating the view.

‘It’s guid walking country, if that’s why you’re here,’ the woman told me.

I was wearing Merrell boots, Haglöfs pants, and my 66°North parka. It was an easy deduction for her to make.

‘It’s one reason,’ I said. ‘But we’re here for a memorial service, too.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ the woman said. ‘Someone close, is it?’

Realising that I probably shouldn’t have mentioned the service, I gave an awkward shrug. ‘My fiancé’s brother died not far from here. It was ten years ago on Friday coming. I didn’t actually know him,’ I admitted.

‘Càrn a’ Bhodaich is up the hill. Take the first left, and it’s the last lodge,’ the woman told me, giving me an understanding nod. ‘If ye need a’thing else, the office is open until six.’ She again looked out through the glass door, and her curiosity finally got the better of her. ‘Whet kind o’ car is that?’

‘Gertrude? She’s a Caterham Seven, a kit car. Den built her himself; she’s my biggest rival for his affections,’ I told her with a smile.

The woman chortled. ‘Gertrude, eh? Well, she looks a bit low-slung. Tell him tae take it easy,’ the woman advised. ‘The track up tae the lodge isnae sae guid.’

‘I will,’ I promised.

* * *

It was very early when we climbed into Gertrude the following morning. I was still yawning, and Den noticed.

‘Roaming in the gloaming might sound romantic, but we really don’t want to be out on these hills when darkness falls,’ he reminded me as we set off on our drive to Loch Mullardoch.

We left Gertrude in a small car park on the shore of the loch. I was a little worried about abandoning the car in such a remote location, but Den assured me that it was magically protected. Wondering how long it would take me to become used to the fact that my boyfriend was a wizard, I simply accepted him at his word.

The northern shore was an easy start to our hike, but it wasn’t long before we started the first of several long ascents. As it was my first visit to Scotland, and because the Weasleys would severely curtail our walking, our plan was to climb four of the closest Munros in one day. We’d set off so early because we knew that the walk would be challenging, even for experienced hikers like Den and me.

By early afternoon we’d left two of the Munros, An Socach and An Riabhachan, behind us. I was, as my fiancé pointed out, no longer a Munro virgin. With the first two peaks behind us, we were walking along the eastern end of the An Riabhachan ridge towards the rocky peak of Sgurr na Lapaich.

I looked at the map frequently, but it didn’t give me any clues as to how to pronounce the names of the peaks. Den said Skur na-lapaich, running the second and third words together. He pronounced the final “ch” as that strange rattling h-ch the Scots use in loch. It was a sound I simply couldn’t get my tongue around.

The clouds were high and the air clear; in the distance we could see the summit of our next destination. From the route planning we’d done the previous afternoon and evening I now knew that Sgurr na Lapaich was the highest peak north of the Great Glen. We were heading steadily towards the highest land in the northern part of the Highlands. Beyond that peak lay the last of the Munros we’d planned to conquer, Carn nan Gobhar. It was still three and a half miles away, but we were making good time, and were confident that we’d get back to the car before dusk.

It was the tail end of April, but there were still white patches of snow on the shaded northern side of the ridge. We were well wrapped up, because the cold northerly wind that gusted across the tops nipped at any exposed flesh. Den wore the bright orange beanie I’d bought him, and I wore the bright blue tube scarf he had bought for me. When we’d set off, I’d worn it as a headband, now it was a hat.

‘Spectacular, isn’t it?’ Den asked.

‘It is,’ I agreed. He took my gloved hand in his, and squeezed it. ‘You told me that you started hiking when you were very young. Did your brother go walking with you?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, haven’t I shown you the photographs, Les?’ he asked as he stared out over the hills.

I shook my head, but he wasn’t looking at me; he was taking in the spectacular view. We were on top if the world, and like him, I couldn’t ignore the beauty surrounding me. As I gazed out over the mountains, I wondered if his remark was as innocent as it seemed.

‘No,’ I said carefully as we continued to gaze into the distance. ‘You’ve always told me that your brother was a keen photographer, but I’ve never seen any of his photographs.’

‘Of course you haven’t,’ he admitted. ‘I couldn’t let you see them, not until you knew the truth. Most of them are magical photos.’

Magical photos! I didn’t ask, it was simply something else I’d soon be astonished by. I thought back over the four years we’d been together.

_I had been going out with Dennis Creevey for four months before he’d even mentioned his brother. I’m an only child, and from our conversations I’d assumed that Den was, too. It was after we’d been to see Rachel Unthank and the Winterset. It was a great gig, and the conversation moved as it does from Rachel and Becky Unthank to siblings. I made some comment about us being similar in so many ways: we’re both fans of the same sort of music, we both love hiking, we’re both only children. It was then that he told me._

_‘I_ had _a brother. His name was Colin, he died.’ Den’s response had been blunt, almost gruff, and those few words were all he’d said. He certainly hadn’t invited me to be sympathetic. Nor had he wanted me to ask any questions; that had been obvious from his tone._

‘You don’t talk about him, Den,’ I said quietly. ‘We’re going to a memorial service at dawn on Friday, but even when you asked me to attend the service with you, you didn’t mention Colin.’

‘Let’s stop for lunch,’ he suggested. ‘It looks fairly sheltered down there.’ He pointed to a rock outcrop on the leeward side of the ridge.

‘Good idea,’ I said. ‘I could do with something to eat, and a cuppa.’

We worked in silence, postponing our conversation until we were settled and sitting. Den shrugged off his day pack, and I shrugged off mine. We each had a flask of tea, and we’d shared the Coronation chicken wraps, apples, bananas, chocolate, and water between us. Carrying our own provisions was sensible. It was always best to be prepared for anything on the hills; even losing one of the day packs wouldn’t result in us losing everything. Den was very particular about safety on the mountains. He’d even left a copy of our route with the woman at the reception desk, just in case we didn’t make it back. That, I knew was for my benefit. If something happened to him, I’d be in trouble. If something happened to me, he could … diseparate … or something, and get help.

As we sat on our packs and began to eat, Dennis began to talk. He didn’t look at me; he stared out over the Scottish Highlands, and the story of his brother poured forth.

‘When we were little, Colin and me, and Mum and Dad, walked all around Weardale and up into the Pennines, and across into the Lakes, too,’ he said. He turned, and the intensity of his glance showed that the memories were painful.

‘Colin got his first camera when he was eight. It wasn’t a good one, but he took it everywhere with him, and he photographed everything. Mum and Dad got him a good 35mm SLR for his eleventh birthday. It wasn’t long after his birthday that he got his letter. “You’re a wizard, you’ve got a place at Hogwarts.” It was unbelievable. I’ve never been able to find a magical ancestor in the family, and I’ve looked. But I’ve spoken to Hermione, and she couldn’t find one in her family, either. And, let’s be honest, if Hermione can’t find one, what chance do I have?’

‘Hermione?’ I asked.

‘Hermione Granger-Weasley,’ he said. ‘She’s one of the Army. You’ll meet her on Friday. You’ll meet them all on Friday, Les, so I suppose I should tell you something about them.’

I said nothing, I simply waited.

‘I’m the baby of the group,’ Den began. ‘I was only twelve when Dumbledore’s Army met for the first time. Twelve! Of course Harry was only fifteen—which is how old I was at The Battle. At fifteen Harry was already organising, making sure that we could defend ourselves. Hermione had told everyone that dark times were coming, and she was right.

‘I was only a second-year, and I was the youngest person there. Then came Ginny, Colin, and Luna, they were all fourth-years. Most of the others were fifth-years, like Harry. There were a few sixth years, like Katie and Cho and a few seventh-years; Fred and George, Angelina, Lee, and Alicia.

‘To begin with, it was just a bit of fun. The Ministry had put a woman named Umbridge into the school. She was an evil cow. She’s in prison, now.

‘The DA only lasted one year, not even that, really, because Umbridge put a stop to us. The following year, Harry didn’t continue it, despite the fact that things were worse than ever. I suppose in some ways it was just a silly little secret club for kids, but Colin never forgot. None of us did.’ He paused.

‘That year, my third year, was terrible. People were dying. When we left for the summer break in ninety-seven, we knew that trouble was coming. During the holidays, Colin got a message from a friend of his, Fenella, she was in the camera club with him. She told him about the Ministry’s plans to round up Muggle-borns. That’s people like me, Colin, Justin, Dean, and Hermione, people without any obvious magic in their background. Colin managed to warn Justin, but we couldn’t contact Dean. Justin helped us to go into hiding with Mum and Dad.

‘Colin… Colin was a hero. He couldn’t help in the fight, and neither could I because we were underage. We had the trace on us.’ Dennis turned and looked at me. ‘Have I told you about the trace?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I said, although I couldn’t remember exactly what it was.

‘Right, well, Colin couldn’t fight, but he could still use his camera, and he had all of his magical developing equipment with him too. It wasn’t long before we were contacted by Fred and George, and some of the others who’d left school. Colin made fake documents for them. I wasn’t much help. Colin even went out with them on scouting missions a few times. He photographed various places for them. Then, finally, Harry went back to Hogwarts, and the call to arms went out. Justin Apparated to our place, he was going to take us both to Hogwarts. But Colin didn’t want me to go. He said I was too young! I was fifteen, and Colin was only sixteen, because his birthday’s at the end of the year. I argued, I shouted, I swore. I was horrible to him. I was really horrible to him! Angry, vile… Colin... He was crying when he Stunned me and left, and...’

Den began to sob. I moved alongside him, placed an arm around his shoulder, and hugged him.

‘George knows we argued, and so does Justin.’ Den sniffed. ‘But I’ve never told anyone else, Les, not even Mum and Dad,’ he whispered.

‘He wanted to keep you safe,’ I assured him. ‘You didn’t know that he wasn’t going to come back, Den. If he had lived, you’d have made up with each other, you must know that. I know it, I’m certain. You’re too good a man not to have made up with him.’ I hesitated for a moment. ‘It must have been a terrible time,’ I added, not knowing what else to say. We sat in silence on the side of the mountain, arms around each other, and I waited. Eventually, he continued.

‘Oliver Wood found him—found his body—in the grounds. Colin was all alone when he died. If I’d been there... If I had been with him... If…’

‘If...’ I interrupted. ‘If I hadn’t been hiking on Coniston Old Man on the same day you were running it, we’d never have met,’ I told him firmly. ‘My Granny says “The ‘if I had’, and the ‘if I hadn’t’ will balance out in the end.” I think she’s right. We can’t change the past, Den. We have to accept it.’

Dennis sighed, and took a deep breath. ‘Early on in the Battle, Colin was with Justin, but they got separated. After that, he was with Aurors Tonks—I mean Lupin—and Protheroe for a while.’

‘Your boss, Polly Protheroe? The crazy Goth woman?’

‘Yeah, Polly was the only Muggle-born in the Auror Office until I joined. She reckons Colin saved her life, I think that’s why she asked for me on her team. Polly was knocked unconscious during the battle, and sometime after that Tonks was killed. Colin wasn’t with her when she died. The guy who killed Colin... We didn’t find out how Colin died for years... The guy who did it... He even bragged about it to Harry, when we finally caught him.’

I had no words. I could do nothing but hold him.

‘His name is Gregory Goyle,’ Den told me. ‘He lost his wand during the battle, but managed to find a broom. He was in school uniform, so Colin thought they were on the same side. He rammed Colin with the broom, stole his wand from him, and... and used the Avada Kedavra. Colin would’ve died instantly; he wouldn’t have felt a thing.’

‘The Avada Kedavra?’ I asked. The words sounded comical, but Den’s obvious grief was enough to force any thoughts of laughter from my mind.

‘The Killing Curse,’ said Dennis. ‘It’s illegal, it’s very dark magic. Instant death!’ He rubbed tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘That’s why I joined the Auror Office when I left school. That’s why I do what I do, Les. I catch dark wizards. I do it for Colin.’

‘Oh, Dennis,’ I said, hugging him. He sniffed.

‘Sorry, Les,’ he said sadly. ‘I don’t usually cry. I don’t really know why...’

‘You’re bound to feel sad, Den. It’s only five days until the tenth anniversary of Colin’s death,’ I reminded him.

‘Lots of other people died,’ said Dennis, ‘You know that George’s twin, Fred died at The Battle, too. They were inseparable, but George wasn’t with him.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Now, let’s get this walk finished, shall we?’

For the first time, I fully understood Den’s peculiar friendship with George Weasley.


	2. Girls' Night In

Girls' Night In

George tipped back the bottle of Scotch Ale, draining the last dregs from it. ‘Come on, Shorty,’ he said to Den, ‘Let’s go see if we can spot Nessie. Les and ‘Lina will look after the little snot-monsters, won’t you, ladies?’

‘Nessie!’ I exclaimed. ‘I’m not falling for that one, George! You’re going to the pub, aren’t you?’

George stared at my fiancé. ‘Haven’t you told her?’ he asked.

‘Have you ever really thought about how much stuff there is to tell a Muggle?’ Den asked. ‘I work for the Ministry, and _I’m_ still finding stuff out.’ He turned to me, a smile on his face. ‘The monster exists, Les.’

‘Don’t you start!’ I wagged a scolding finger at my fiancé. ‘I’m not that gullible.’

‘It does, Lesley,’ Angelina said quietly. ‘What, exactly, has Dennis told you?’

‘He’s told me that he’s an Auror, that you two are both—whatever you are, and so is his boss, Polly. And he’s showed me some magic, and I’ve seen his broom,’ I said.

‘I’ll bet you have, I’ll bet you have,’ said George, his voice full of innuendo.

‘It’s almost certainly going to be more impressive than yours,’ Angelina told her husband acidly. George burst out laughing.

‘There’s a lot more for you to learn, Les, sorry,’ apologised Dennis. ‘There are monsters, too.’

‘The correct term is Magical Creatures, Dennis,’ said Angelina firmly as she shuffled around in her chair to face me. ‘I work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Lesley. You may see some of them at the memorial service. The centaurs, and merpeople will be there, and you may even see the hippogriffs.’

I stared at Angelina. She, like George, was something of a joker. Although she sounded deadly serious, I’d been caught out by that act before. Unable to tell whether she was being honest, I turned to Den. He nodded.

‘There will be at least one werewolf there, too,’ he said.

‘You two go looking for the kelpie,’ said Angelina. ‘Lesley and I will have a nice girly chat. We haven’t had a proper chat since you told her the truth, Dennis.’

‘Is that okay?’ Dennis asked me.

‘You don’t _ask_ her!’ George protested. ‘You _tell_ her! She needs to know who’s in charge!’

‘One more crack like that, lugless, and you can stay with the kids while Lesley and I go to the pub,’ said Angelina firmly.

Sorry, boss,’ George replied meekly.

* * *

‘You’re taking it all very well,’ Angelina told me after George and Dennis had left on their monster hunt. ‘How long have you known, two weeks, three?’

‘Two weeks, and two days,’ I replied. ‘You’re the first, the first...’

‘Witch,’ Angelina supplied. She was very matter-of-fact about it. It seemed that, to her at least, there were no negative connotations to the word.

‘You’re the first witch I’ve spoken too since Den told me, and proposed,’ I said.

‘Tell me all about it,’ she demanded. So I did.

‘And now you’re going to the remembrance ceremony with him,’ Angelina observed approvingly when I’d finished my story. She stared into my eyes, and turned serious. ‘Thanks for inviting us here, Lesley. This is the time of year when Dennis and George need each other the most. George has been getting better over the years, but this year he’s been worse than... worse than… well, he’s hiding it well, now that we’re here, but he’s really down. It reminds me of how he was after The Battle. I think it’s this anniversary. Ten years! It’s a long time, but right now it feels like it was only yesterday.’

‘It’s a big anniversary,’ I said.

She nodded, and rubbed her shoulder. ‘George used to drink himself into a stupor on his birthday, and he didn’t resurface until after the Remembrance ceremony. For the first few years after The Battle there was an entire month of grief and drunkenness, and Dennis was the only person he would talk to.’

‘Before I knew the truth,’ I told Angelina. ‘Dennis told me that Colin and Fred both died in a fire, and that’s why he and George were so close.’

‘In a way it’s true. They died in the fire of battle,’ said Angelina. ‘Dennis and Colin weren’t twins like Fred and George, but like the twins, “the Creevey brothers” came as a pair. They were inseparable at school. We were in the same house, and in Dumbledore’s Army together, but I don’t think George and Den had spoken to each other until after they lost their brothers. They bonded in grief.’ Angelina’s eyes were unfocussed as she stared back into the past.

‘It’s probably a good thing that they did. George’s family, Perce in particular, tried their best to reach out, everyone did, but George couldn’t, or wouldn’t, talk to any of his family after The Battle. The thing was, George wasn’t with Fred when he died, but Perce was, and so were Ron, Harry, and Hermione. We’ve talked about it a lot over the years, and I’m sure that was George’s biggest problem. There were five people in that corridor, but the explosion only killed Fred. George...’ Angelina hesitated, and lowered her voice. ‘Don’t tell anyone else this, Lesley.’

‘I won’t,’ I promised.

‘In the immediate aftermath, George wanted it to have been one of the others, preferably Percy, who’d died. Percy had been estranged from his family for a long time, and George needed someone to blame. To be honest, I think George would have been able to cope with any death, other than Fred’s. Even when George and I got together it took me a long time to figure out what was really wrong. I finally got an admission from him a few years ago. It wasn’t simply that Fred was dead; it wasn’t only that George hated himself for not being there. Mostly, he hated himself for wishing that Percy, or one of the others, had died in his twin’s place.’

‘Dennis hated himself because the last thing he and Colin did, before Colin left for the battle, was argue. His last memory of Colin is of them fighting and arguing,’ I confided. ‘Please don’t tell anyone else.’

Angelina stared at me. ‘They told each other, didn’t they? Ten years, and now I finally know why it was that, for years after the battle, George wouldn’t unburden himself to anyone but Dennis.’

‘Not even you?’ I asked. ‘You were both in this Bumblebore’s Army thing, weren’t you? I thought you were close.’

‘Dumbledore’s,’ Angelina corrected me, laughing. ‘We were, at school, but he didn’t really talk to me after The Battle, not for a long time,’ Angelina admitted. ‘I was Fred’s ex. George and I didn’t reconnect until almost three years later.’

‘You were Fred’s ex?’ I asked, shocked. ‘What happened?’

‘Fred and I were together for about six months—from Christmas to the summer holidays—in our sixth year,’ Angelina explained. ‘Fred didn’t even finish with me. The summer holidays arrived, and he went home and stopped communicating. The little shit blanked me when we got back to school, so I made him pay. I was Quidditch Captain so I made Fred, and George of course, suffer in our final year. Then I left school. I didn’t see either of them for a while, and I fell in love, and fell out of love, within the space of a year.’

I opened my mouth, but Angelina stared me into silence.

‘I don’t want to talk about _him_ ,’ she said firmly. ‘It was a grim year, Lesley, and then I almost died in The Battle. Dennis—don’t take this the wrong way, Lesley, but—he wasn’t at The Battle; he doesn’t _really_ know what it was like. A motley collection of school kids, teachers, and a few Aurors against, trolls, giants, cold-blooded killers, criminals and psychopaths. Professor McGonagall animated statues, even desks to try to help us. “Protect the fallen and the weak! Defend your home!” she told them. But it was hopeless, and we knew it. There were a lot more casualties on our side than on theirs.’

I reached across and held Angelina’s hand. ‘You don’t have to talk about it,’ I assured her.

‘I do,’ she said, taking a deep breath and withdrawing her hand from mine. ‘At around midnight, there was a ceasefire. While we were counting our dead, Tom Riddle offered us a choice. He said that if we handed Harry over, they would spare us. No one believed him. But no one could find Harry, either. Harry owned—still owns, I suppose—an invisibility cloak. It turned out he’d used it to sneak out from the school.

‘What happened?’ I asked, as I added invisibility cloaks to the long list of things I’d have to try to believe in.

‘No one knows,’ Angelina admitted. ‘Well, Harry does, and so do Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. I think Neville and Luna probably know, too. And I suspect that the Minister also knows, but I can’t exactly ask him, and reading Kingsley isn’t easy. The official story is that Riddle hit Harry with the Killing Curse, and Harry didn’t resist. When the spell hit, they both collapsed, but neither of them died. Harry had already survived the Killing Curse once. The first time it was because his mother had died to protect him, and the second time was because Riddle had used Harry’s blood to revive himself. They were tied to each other until Riddle used the Killing Curse, and broke the bond.’ Angelina shrugged. ‘That’s the story, anyway. I don’t really know. It’s old and very powerful magic. Riddle got up fairly quickly, but Harry played dead and the Death Eaters thought they’d won.

‘We didn’t know any of that that at the time, so when we were told “Harry Potter has fallen! The Dark Lord is unstoppable!” we all thought it was true. They even paraded his body in front of us. I don’t know about the others, but I was certain Harry was dead, and that I was about to join him. We were prepared to face Riddle, although we knew that we didn’t have a chance. It didn’t matter, because we didn’t have a choice either! Then, suddenly Harry moved. He wasn’t dead, and all hell broke loose. Neville killed Riddle’s snake, Nagini, with the Sword of Gryffindor, then Harry killed Riddle, and somehow we had won,’ said Angelina sadly.

‘The Ministry’s version of events is that Riddle had used Dark Magic to tie himself to life. He’d somehow tied his life force to several objects. Ron destroyed Slytherin’s Locket; Hermione destroyed the Hufflepuff’s cup, which they’d stolen from Gringotts, and Neville killed the snake, Nagini. According to Harry, it wasn’t until then that Riddle was finally vulnerable.’ She shrugged, and cocked her head to one side.

‘Sorry, I thought I heard little Fred,’ she said. Looking straight at me with a look which said “I’ve never told anyone else this”, she continued to unburden herself on me. ‘After The Battle, George wouldn’t talk to me, so I tried to make myself a new life. I fell in love again—Martin—he was a good man, I’m glad he’s found someone better for him than I was. I left Martin almost three years after the Battle. I blamed Fred for that, because the spectre of his death, was hanging over me. George and I met at Fred’s graveside, and we argued. While we argued, well, let’s just say we exchanged a few home truths. George still tells people that I was cruel to Fred, perhaps I was. I prefer to think that I was simply cruel to George’s memories of Fred. If I hadn’t been, well, I didn’t need a crystal ball to see that in a couple of more years George would have driven himself crazy. He was becoming trapped in a cycle of grief. He’d turned his natural love for his brother into an obsessive veneration of Fred’s memory.’ Angelina shook her head, and sighed.’ I probably _do_ sound cruel, Lesley, but that was the one thing Dennis couldn’t help George with. They could share the pain, but in many ways Dennis was in the same trap. George needed a kick up the arse, so I gave him one. Fortunately, with a bit of help from Gabrielle, and a year in Paris, Dennis managed to find his own way out from his grief.’

‘Gabrielle?’ I asked. ‘Who’s Gabrielle.?

‘Oh,’ Angelina said. She looked at me thoughtfully. ‘Dennis wasn’t your first boyfriend, was he?’

‘No,’ I told her, smiling. ‘Nor even the second, or third, or...’

‘So, have you told Dennis about your exes?’

‘No,’ I told her. ‘He hasn’t asked, and I haven’t asked him.’

‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘Then I won’t tell you about Dennis and “la belle Gabi”. Actually, I can’t, because I don’t really know much. If you want to know, you’ll have to ask him.’

‘You never met her?’ I asked.

‘I see her occasionally, at Weasley family gatherings,’ Angelina admitted, ‘You’ve met George’s brother, Bill, haven’t you?’

‘He’s the one with the scars, isn’t he?’ I asked.

Angelina nodded. ‘Have you met his wife?’

‘Only once, but she’s unforgettable.’ I nodded again.

‘Gabrielle is Fleur’s little sister,’ Angelina told me.

‘Shit,’ I said. ‘Fleur’s bloody gorgeous.’

‘Yeah, so’s Gabrielle; but I hear rumours that she’s a lover, not a hiker,’ Angelina told me with a laugh.


	3. Hogwarts

**Hogwarts**

It was another very early morning; this time, dawn was still three-quarters of an hour away. As we strolled up the long gravel track I my doubts and worries finally overwhelmed me. I stopped, unable to go any further.

‘I’m sorry, Dennis,’ I said. ‘I’m certain that I left the tap running in the bathroom. The lodge might be flooded. We’ll have to go back. I think that the gas is on, too!’

George, who was pushing a double buggy containing Fred and Roxy, turned and stared at me in surprise. Dennis, puzzled, glanced at my wrist, and gave me a look of surprise. ‘Where’s the silver bracelet I gave you?’ he asked.

‘Oh, I left if in the bathroom,’ I realised in horror. I was desperate, and close to tears. ‘I took it off when I got washed, and Angelina hammered on the door because little Fred needed the toilet. I must’ve forgotten to pick it up in the rush. I _have_ to go back, Den. When I do, I’ll collect the bracelet, I promise.’

‘The lodge is miles away, Les,’ Dennis reminded me. ‘We don’t have time to go back. It’s a good thing I have a spare bracelet in my wallet.’

‘The bracelet?’ I was almost screaming in my anxiety. ‘That’s the least of our problems. We have to leave Den, we have to go now!’

Ignoring me, Den opened his Auror-issue wallet, pulled out his wand and said, ‘Accio bracelet.’

The bracelet Den firmly slipped onto my wrist was a cheap-looking simple copper band, the sort of thing gullible people wear in the mistaken belief that it has some vague and mysterious health benefits. The one I’d left behind at the cottage was four plaited silver chains. Although the bracelet was plain, my panic was banished the moment it passed over my hand.

‘My fault, I should’ve made certain you were wearing it,’ said Dennis apologetically as I stood panting and gasping in confusion. ‘The Muggle-Repelling Charm around Hogwarts is one of the most powerful ones I’ve seen. We’re still ten minutes from the gates. Feeling better? Do you need a couple of minutes?’

I took a deep breath. ‘Confused,’ I admitted. ‘Let me catch my breath.’

‘The Charm was making you panic and want to leave,’ Den told me quietly as. ‘The bracelet will protect you from its effects. This will work just as well as the one I gave you; the Ministry provide these,’ he tapped the one on my arm, ‘to all Muggle parents.’

‘Don’t worry, Lesley, it’s just one of those things. We were all rushing to get here, and Fred’s sudden urge to drop one of his stinkers didn’t help.’ Angelina indicated their son, who was now sleeping next to his sister in the buggy. ‘It’s just one of those things. Are you sure you’re okay now, Lesley?’

‘Yeah, thanks,’ I assured her. As my heartrate returned to normal, I took Den’s hand and we again set off for the gate.

* * *

At twenty minutes past five the promise of dawn was a slowly expanding glow on the horizon. We had congregated on a lawn. In front of us, on a slight rise, stood a plain white obelisk some fifteen feet high. Beyond it, stern and sturdy trees rustled in the breeze. Behind us was an impossibly magnificent castle, this was Hogwarts, Dennis’ school.

My initial awe at my surroundings was showing no sign of diminishing, the building was so impressive as to seem almost unreal; the centaurs and hippogriffs standing at the forest’s edge simply added to the dreamlike quality of the place. I’d mentioned my feelings to Den, and he’d double checked my bracelet.

‘Stop fussing over her, Dennis,’ his mother told him. ‘Hogwarts has always seemed dream-like, I know how she feels.’

‘True,’ Den’s dad confirmed his wife’s words with a monosyllabic response, and continued to stare at the creatures.

To our left, over a thousand schoolchildren in their odd-looking black robes stood shuffling, yawning, and murmuring. I was standing alongside Dennis. George, Angelina and their kids were next to me, with most of George’s family stretching away beyond them.

I looked along the line of redheads. There she was: tall, elegant, and beautiful. She was clad in black from her shining patent leather stilettos to the neatly veiled pillbox hat stylishly perched on her blonde hair. Perhaps, I thought hopefully, her little sister was a little less perfect. Fleur seemed to sense my stare, as she glanced in my direction, I tried to imagine Den, who was happiest and most comfortable in hiking gear, standing on a mountaintop with someone so chic.

I began to smile, but a sob brought me back to the seriousness of the ceremony. After her few words about the school, Dennis’ mother had turned away from me and lapsed into silence. Seeing her shoulders shake, I leant forwards and acknowledged her grief with a sad smile.

We were a small part of a large throng consisting of veterans and their families. Many were young, most only a few years older than Dennis and I. Others were very old, and one, a man with a walrus moustache, was extremely overweight. Dennis had pointed out several of the most important people to me, but I’d already lost most of their names in the sombre fog of the occasion.

The majority of the crowd were in black robes, but not all. Almost all of the others, including Dennis and myself, were in dark suits, “Muggle clothes,” Den called them. Almost directly ahead, next to the obelisk, a tall black man—the Minister—stood immobile and attentive. He wore a black suit, a black shirt, and a black tie. He was the oldest person in Muggle attire. Unlike the others, however, the Minister wore a hat, a black kufi.

There were a few flashes of colour among the dark clothes. I saw two women in white saris, and a blonde woman wore bright blue, but otherwise the colours were as sombre as the occasion. Two teenagers—a boy and a girl—flanked the Minister. They were, Den whispered, the Head Boy and Girl, and they wore the same school robes as the other kids.

As the glow on the horizon grew, the murmurs died away, and an expectant silence fell. The only sound was from the forest, where the dawn chorus was in full song. The moment the sun kept its promise and broke free of the horizon, the man in the black kufi stepped forwards and touched his wand to his throat.

‘Every war has its casualties, every victory its victims,’ the Minister began, his magically amplified voice was deep and sombre. ‘Ten years ago today, at dawn, at this moment, a great evil was defeated.’ As he spoke, the man glanced across at a serious-looking, bespectacled man in his late twenties.

The black-haired man was cradling a tiny, sleeping, bundle in his arms. The baby’s bright ginger hair poked out from beneath a knitted green hat. Next to the man was a small and curvy redhead whose eyes were shaded from the rising son by a black fedora. She carried one small boy on her hip and was holding the hand of a second, older, boy. Her eldest, who could be no more than four, was yawning and squirming.

This was the only person whose name had stuck with me. I now knew that I was looking at the hero of the battle and Head of the Auror Office, and his family. From Den’s descriptions of his boss, I had expected Harry Potter to look like a rugged action hero. He wasn’t Jason Bourne, or James Bond, to my eyes he was simply an ordinary-looking family man.

‘This is not a time to celebrate,’ the Minister continued, staring out over the crowd. ‘This is a time to remember those who did not live to see victory, those who gave their lives to ensure that we, the survivors, can live free from the yoke of fear, bigotry and oppression. Please bow your heads and join me in remembering the fallen.’ He took one step backwards, and the two teenagers in school robes stepped forwards.

‘Nymphadora Tonks,’ the girl began. She and the boy alternated in reading names, the names of those who had died ten years earlier.

It wasn’t long before the Head Boy read out the name, ‘Colin Creevey.’ I squeezed Den’s hand and he squeezed mine back, but he was immediately distracted by his mother, who was now inconsolable.

When the last name had been read, a bell was rung. Heads remained bowed, and silence fell.

I didn’t know anyone who had died. In fact, until Den had asked if I’d like to accompany him, I had known almost nothing about what he called “The Battle”.

I had sensed the capitals when he’d asked me if I’d attend the ceremony with him. This wasn’t simply a fight, or even a battle; it was “The Battle”. Its importance to Dennis, and to everyone there, was made clear by the reverent silence which blanketed the crowd. As I stood in silence, alone in a crowd and trying to comprehend the losses they’d endured, the occasion overwhelmed me. I felt tears on my cheek as I mourned lost lives, lives given to protect others.

Two minutes later the bell rang again, and the short ceremony ended. There were no wreaths, no great speeches, just a few words, the names, and a respectful silence. As I dried my tears I thought of the annual poppy appeal, and realised that Colin’s community had no such symbol of loss.

The second bell was the signal that the ceremony was at an end. The noise rose and people began to move as they sought out old friends. Some of the schoolchildren moved cautiously towards the bespectacled hero, apparently awe-struck by the presence of Harry Potter. I heard his name on the lips of many of them. It was a little after five-thirty in the morning, and I’d been told that breakfast would be served in the Great Hall at six.

As informal groups formed, I found myself surrounded by Dennis’ school friends. I was introduced to Jimmy “Mighty” Peakes. He was, apparently, a professional Beater. Jimmy was a pugnacious, thickset man who carefully explained to me that “Beater” was a Quidditch position. I had to admit that I’d never seen a game.

Curious Jimmy began to ask me about myself, and about how I’d met Den. By the time I’d finished the story, Den and I had become separated. Eventually excusing myself from the complexities of a conversation that had returned to Quidditch, I went to look for him.

It was a little unnerving, as everyone seemed to know who I was.

‘You’re Dennis Creevey’s girl, aren’t you?’

‘Looking for Dennis? I haven’t seen him.’

‘Are you really a Muggle?’

I wandered for a while. Unable to find him, I found myself cooing over a baby. Hugo Weasley was only a matter of weeks old. The little hair the tiny baby had was, like the Potter baby, red. Hugo was as ginger as his sister, Rose, and their father.

Ron’s wife, Hermione, was one of the Muggle-borns Dennis had mentioned, and she was interested to know what I thought of Hogwarts, and what I knew about The Battle. Unfortunately, I began by telling her what Dennis and Angelina had told me, that Harry had killed Tom Riddle.

When Hermione began a long and forceful lecture, I realised that I’d made a serious mistake. I very quickly learned that Harry had not killed anyone! He’d used the Disarming Spell tried to disarm Riddle. Harry’s opponent had been killed by his own spell, not by Harry.

‘I didn’t know; I don’t even know what a Disarming Spell is!’ I protested when she’d finished telling me off.

She had the good grace to look a little contrite, and I was certain she was about to apologise. Unfortunately, her husband, who had been cradling their son, decided to demonstrate.

‘It’s easy! Expelliarmus,’ he said. A quill shot out from the hand of a schoolboy who was approaching us, or more likely them. It flew through the air, trailing ink in its wake. Ron caught it, and winked at me as his wife turned her attention to him.

‘Idiot,’ she told him. ‘Do I have ink on my face?’

‘Yes,’ I said. There was a trail of tiny black specks across her cheek.

At the very same moment Ron said, ‘No.’

She rounded on him.

I left them arguing, and once again moved through the crowds trying to find Dennis. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see him anywhere. Dennis isn’t very tall, and I’m not even as tall as he is. Most of the schoolchildren were taller than me, and finding him in the crowds proved impossible. Eventually, I found myself on the edge of a lawn at one corner of the castle. In front of me were several large greenhouses full of some very exotic-looking plants. Curious, I approached them.

When I entered the nearest greenhouse, I saw a spiky dark-red plant in the nearest corner. It appeared to be animated. There was a low fence preventing anyone from getting any closer than four feet from it. Fascinated, I moved up to the fence. Two vines slithered towards me, whipped back, and struck.

‘Protego,’ a woman’s voice shouted from behind me. A silver barrier shimmered in front of me. One of the vines bounced off it, the other grazed my outstretched hand. I looked down at my finger, saw a single drop of blood, and collapsed.

The next thing I knew I was being lifted into a sitting position. ‘Drink this,’ A man ordered.

A cup was pressed to my mouth, and a spicy liquid touched my lips. I took a careful sip, and immediately felt better. With one more swallow, the cup was empty.

‘My Shield Charm wasn’t fast enough,’ the woman said. ‘It’s a good thing you had a Poison Antidote handy, Neville.’

‘Habit,’ Neville said. ‘I’ve carried one ever since The Battle, Luna. When Harry told me to kill the snake, I thought I’d better be prepared, just in case it bit me.’

‘I didn’t know that! Did you tell anyone else?’ asked Luna.

‘No,’ said Neville.

‘That was very silly! If Nagini had bitten you, who would have given you the antidote when no one knew it was there?’ asked Luna.

Neville laughed. ‘Right as always! That was really stupid of me, wasn’t it?’

As my head cleared, I opened my eyes. Neville, I vaguely remembered from Angelina’s story, was the man who’d killed the snake. He was fair-haired, burly, and black-robed. Not even the fine scars on his face could make him look anything other than friendly. Luna, who was kneeling at my side, was a dark-blonde, with rather protuberant grey-eyes. She was the woman in sky-blue robes I’d seen in the black-clad crowd.

‘Who are you, and how did you get in here?’ Neville asked.

‘I unlocked the door, Neville,’ Luna admitted. ‘I saw the Whomping Willow cutting we took last year through the windows, and I wanted to see whether it had rooted properly.’ She gestured towards a small but wildly waving willow at the other end of the greenhouse. ‘I heard the greenhouse door open, but by the time I saw this lady, she was approaching the Venomous Tentacula.’

‘Didn’t you recognise it?’ Neville asked me in astonishment.

‘Of course she didn’t, she’s a Muggle,’ said Luna.

I wondered if I’d ever get the opportunity to speak.

‘She’s Dennis Creevey’s fiancée,’ Luna added. I realised that if I wanted to say anything, I’d have to interrupt them.

‘Lesley Anderson,’ I said. ‘You’re called Luna, but I don’t know anything else. And you’re Neville, the man who killed the snake, you’re famous.’

‘This is Luna Lovegood,’ said Neville, apparently embarrassed by my comment. ‘She’s more of a hero than me.’

‘Don’t be silly, Neville.’

‘You are, Luna, you always were.’ Neville looked at her in admiration, and she smiled.

I tried to stand. Neville grabbed my wrist and elbow, and steadied me as I staggered to my feet. Luna pulled a wand from her sleeve, and waved it across my clothes. I watched as the soil flew from my sleeves and returned to the greenhouse floor.

‘I’d better let Dennis know where you are,’ Luna said. A silver hare shot from the end of her wand and flew through the door. I had no idea what was going on. ‘He’ll be worried about you.’ She stared into my face. ‘I like Dennis,’ she told me.

‘We all like Dennis,’ said Neville firmly. For an instant I saw, not the jovial and gentle man who’d helped me, but a fierce warrior.

‘His brother, Colin, was in my year, and he was very nice, too,’ Luna told me. ‘He had a talent for capturing images, for showing things how they really are, not how most people see them. His death was a great loss to Wizardkind.’

‘How they really are? Is that what you think, Luna? Harry told me that he always looked either angry or depressed in Colin’s photographs,’ Neville observed.

‘Exactly,’ said Luna. ‘But if Colin were still alive, and could photograph him today, we’d all be able to see a very different Harry.’

* * *

Little Roxy was asleep in her buggy, and little Fred was happily smearing his food around his face. We were eating our evening meal in a pub in Drumnadrochit, and I was telling George and Angelina about my many encounters at Hogwarts.

‘Neville and Luna are a lovely couple,’ I said.

George, Angelina, and Dennis snorted with laughter.

‘Couple?’ they all said together.

‘Aren’t they?’ I asked. ‘They seemed very close.’

‘Neville is married,’ said Dennis.

‘To the lovely Hannah,’ said George, holding his hands about a foot in front of his chest.

‘They’re not _that_ big, George,’ said Angelina.

‘If she lay on her back she’d still be taller than Dennis!’ George refused to be put off.

Den put his head in his hands to hide his laughter.

‘Neville and Luna are friends, very close friends, that’s all.’ Angelina refused to be deterred. ‘They’ve worked together for years. The Herbologist and the Cryptozoologist, their work on Bowtruckles was groundbreaking.’

‘There must be a joke in there somewhere,’ said George thoughtfully. A Herbologist and a Cryptozoologist walk into the Leaky Cauldron and...’


End file.
